


The Sun's In My Heart

by accidentallymelted



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallymelted/pseuds/accidentallymelted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jordan Eberle has it made - after a childhood spent in vaudeville with his best friend Taylor Hall, he's now one of 1920s Hollywood's hottest actors, and everything he and co-star Nail Yakupov touch turns to gold. The advent of "talkies" threatens to bring it all crashing down, until newcomer Ryan Nugent-Hopkins volunteers to serve as Nail's voice.</p><p>[OR: Oiler's kidline Singin' In The Rain AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun's In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes accompanied by absolutely _stunning_ art by [asmallbluedot](http://asmallbluedot.tumblr.com/). You should all go [check it out!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5026297) It ALSO now comes with an utterly delightful [fanmix](http://8tracks.com/george-blagden/the-dancing-cavalier#), which you should check out immediately. Huge, huge thanks to SK, NeuroticSquirrel, and Lisa for looking this over for me. You guys are the best!

“Hey, Ryan, you can sing, right?”

Ryan looks up from where he’s reading the most recent casting calls posted to the bulletin board in his agency’s waiting room and turns to see his agent standing at the door to her office, holding what looks like another casting call. Tracy is tapping her foot impatiently. “Yes,” he says, glancing reflexively down at the resume that’s sitting in his lap. He’d brought it in to go over it with her again, and right under the “Skills” heading it lists “singing”. Tracy grabs the resume from him, looks it over and then nods, satisfied.

“Got something for you, then. Monumental Pictures wants a guy for a couple of scenes in their new musical picture.” She shakes her head. “Ever since Warner Bros. and _The Jazz Singer_ , that’s all anyone’s ever asking about. Can they sing? Can they dance? They didn’t seem to care who I sent so, since you are the first person to walk through my door today, you’re the lucky fella. Report to Lot 3 at Monumental by noon, tell them you’re there to see Mr. Gagner.” She goes back to sorting through her paperwork for a few minutes before peering back up at him through her glasses.

“Well?” she asks, and he stutters out his thanks and flees the office before she can give the part to someone else. He’ll just have to make sure he avoids running into Nail Yakupov, or Jordan Eberle. That shouldn’t be too hard, he thinks. They’re _famous_ movie stars, and he’s . . . . well, he’s not. Not yet, anyway, he thinks, then goes back to planning how to make _sure_ he avoids running into either of the men who will definitely have him fired if they spot him.

He gives his name and Tracy’s to the gate guard at Monumental Pictures, who gives him directions to the parking for Lot 3. Ryan’s a little overwhelmed by the crowds of people hurrying around and yelling at each other, but he makes his way to Lot 3. He has to duck to avoid being hit in the face as a man walks by with a long plank of wood over his shoulder, then dodge a pair of workers carrying a couch. The atmosphere is busy and electrifying, and Ryan _loves_ it, even as he keeps a sharp eye on his surroundings, ready to duck behind whatever’s nearest at the sight of Eberle or Yakupov. Mr. Gagner turns out to be a harried-looking sandy-haired man with a megaphone who pushes him into Costuming and Makeup and hands him a script and a piece of sheet music.

“Be ready in 20,” Gagner says before ducking out, and Ryan spends the next 20 minutes frantically trying to memorize the script and learn the music while he’s measured, pinned, and powdered. He’s shoved out of Costuming and Makeup unceremoniously and onto a large soundstage, where a group of techs are having an argument about the lighting and a group of girls in bright purple dresses are running through what sounds like the chorus of the sheet music he’d been handed. He goes over to join them and they welcome him cheerfully, introducing themselves and telling him not to worry.

“It’ll be at least another half an hour before they’re ready for you,” says Katy, who he recognizes from a few of the Hollywood parties he worked with the Coconut Grove before he quit. “Sam just likes to scare new people.” He thanks her without mentioning that Mr. Gagner is actually only _one_ of the things he’s worried about. He catches himself glancing surreptitiously around the soundstage again, wary, and stops with an effort.

Mr. Gagner, whose first name is apparently Sam, interrupts the arguing techies. After a few words, they scatter, looking determined, and he turns to the cluster of girls.

“Rehearse,” he commands, and then is called away by someone else holding a clipboard. Katy rolls her eyes at Sam’s back and turns to Ryan.

“So, here’s what we were thinking. . . “

By the time the set is ready for them, Ryan feels much more comfortable with his lines and the song. That comfort evaporates as soon as he and the others are put in front of the cameras, and isn’t helped by the long microphone on a pole hovering dangerously over their heads. He likes to think that he doesn’t let it show, however, and performs his lines and the song as well as he can.

“Cut,” Sam calls, after at least a dozen takes. “All right, people, that’s a wrap. You, whatever your name is, new guy—come see me.”

Ryan approaches him warily. Sam is busy having an argument with the cameraman but he waves his hand to acknowledge Ryan’s presence. After he finishes, he eyes Ryan critically.

“Name?” he says.

“Ryan Nugent-Hopkins,” Ryan croaks, and then coughs, clearing his throat. “Ryan Nugent-Hopkins,” he says, a little more clearly.

“I heard you the first time,” Sam says dismissively. “Can you dance, Ryan Nugent-Hopkins?”

“Yes sir,” Ryan says, fighting the urge to stand up straighter and put his shoulders back. From the amused glint in his eye, Sam can tell.

“Good. Be here at six o’clock sharp tomorrow, we’re filming a dance sequence at noon and you’ll need time to learn the choreography. Ask for Linda, she’ll teach you.” Sam turns away to sign something a woman holds out to him on a clipboard. He turns back and raises his eyebrows at Ryan. “Well?”

“Oh, thank you sir,” Ryan says, and turns to make his way over to Costuming and Makeup so they can turn him from a character back into an actor. A bored young woman in a smart suit hands him a slip of paper on his way out.

“Your payslip,” she explains when he asks. “Hand that to the man at the pay window, and he’ll give you a check for your scene today.”

Ryan thanks her profusely and hurries out the door, putting on his hat as he goes. He’s almost to the pay window when he hears someone calling after him. “Hey, Ryan!”

He turns around, and sees Jordan Eberle standing there with a tall blonde man, grinning at him. “I told you it was him,” Jordan says to the blonde man, who rolls his eyes. Ryan’s heart plummets, and all his visions of getting paid to _act_ melt away, replaced by memories of his last night at his _last_ job.

0o0o0o0o0

Ryan’s mind was still on the events of the drive to work when he heard his cue and flung open the top of the cake, posing flirtatiously. That lasted for half a heartbeat, and then he looked down into an extremely familiar face, now wearing an expression of vicious delight.

“Well, well,” said Jordan Eberle, the gap-toothed, curly-haired darling of the silver screen, last seen exiting Ryan’s car in a tuxedo jacket that had been ripped to shreds. Ryan swallowed, hard, and remembered saying, “I’m an actor. On the stage—movies are good enough entertainment for the masses, of course, but they really just can’t compare.” He hadn’t meant it at the time, he’d just been trying to take Jordan down a peg for acting like the fact that he was Jordan Eberle meant that Ryan would swoon at his feet. “If it isn’t John Barrymore himself.”

“Excuse me,” Ryan croaked, and finished making his way out of the cake just in time to join the rest of the dancers as they raced through the party, handing out favors and smiling at people. He did his best to get away from Jordan, but Jordan was just as determined to follow him, standing close by as the company formed up and began dancing and asking in a loud voice if Ryan was planning to entertain them with _Hamlet_ tonight – or perhaps a scene from _The Importance of Being Ernest_?

Ryan ignored this as best he could, and then when it didn’t stop, also did his best to ignore the nasty looks some of the other dancers were shooting his way. When the company finally broke up to go and mingle with the guests some more, he tried to duck away but Jordan grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t go, you haven’t even treated us to a soliloquy yet,” he said, a mocking smile on his face, and Ryan was _done._ They were standing by the buffet table, and Ryan picked up the closest thing to hand and hurled it straight at Jordan’s smug, arrogant, insufferable face.

The closest thing to hand turned out to be a cake. Naturally, Jordan ducked out of the way, and Ryan watched in horror as the cake smashed instead into the smiling face of Nail Yakupov, Jordan’s co-star and rumored flame, who had come up behind Jordan to say something. Nail froze, Jordan’s mouth dropped open, and Ryan turned on his heel and fled before he could say or do something to make it worse.

0o0o0o0o0

“Ebs! Hallsy! There you are,” Sam’s voice knocks Ryan out of his memories and he looks up to see him jogging over. “Listen, I’m glad I caught you, I want a word about the music for the next scene, Hallsy.” He sees Ryan and smiles. “I see you met the new kid.”

“New kid?” Jordan asks, raising his eyebrows, and Ryan slumps. For all his plans to avoid him, of course he runs right into Jordan as he’s about to leave.

“Thanks anyway, Mr. Gagner,” he says resignedly. Sam looks at him curiously.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, I guess you should know—I was the one who threw a cake at Nail Yakupov at the party.” Ryan had given his notice at the Coconut Grove the next day, figuring it was better to quit before he got fired. It was a shame he’d have to quit this job, too, especially since he’d just started.

“Is that right?” Sam seems amused, and the blonde man Sam had called Hallsy looks at Ryan with dawning recognition. “Don’t worry about it, Ryan, Nail won’t care.”

“He won’t?” Ryan isn’t sure he believes that, but Hallsy nods.

“As soon as he realized you’d meant to hit Ebs, here, he thought it was hilarious,” he says earnestly, and Jordan nods agreement. “He might offer to help you out if you want to try it again.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, still a little doubtful, but all three of them are smiling at him. Hallsy’s smile turns a little crooked as he looks Ryan over.

“I’m so glad you turned up,” he says. “We’ve been looking inside every cake in town.” His voice breaks a little and he turns to Sam. “You had a question about the music, Gags?” The two of them head off, talking animatedly, leaving Ryan standing alone with Jordan Eberle and feeling shy.

“I’m so glad we found you,” Jordan says, and he sounds like he means it. “We really have been looking all over town, Taylor wasn’t kidding. When I heard you weren’t working at the Coconut Grove anymore—“

“I quit,” Ryan interrupts. “I was worried that Mr. Yakupov might have me fired, and figured it was probably better to quit first.”

“Nail wouldn’t do that,” Jordan says earnestly. “So you’ll be working for Monumental?”

“I guess,” Ryan mutters, looking down. He’s not sure what to do with all of this attention. Jordan hadn’t been like this before – in the car he’d been so _sure_ that Ryan would fawn all over him, then got nasty when Ryan refused to play that game. The party had been more of the same, and Ryan had just resigned himself to knowing that his _favorite actor_ (and secret celebrity crush) was a terrible human being. This behavior, this interest in Ryan, doesn’t fit anything he thought he knew about Jordan Eberle.

“Good,” Jordan says, smiling that breathtaking gap-toothed smile. “I’ll be seeing you around, then, Ryan Nugent-Hopkins.” He walks off, leaving Ryan unbalanced but happy.

0o0o0o0o0

“There you are!” Ryan looks over his shoulder at the (now open) door of the dressing room to see Jordan leaning up against the doorframe, smiling. Ryan looks around, but he’s the only one in the dressing room, so Jordan must be smiling at him. He blushes and hurries to finish buttoning up his shirt, ignoring the way Jordan’s eyes seem to linger on his hands.

“You were looking for me?” he asks, fumbling a little with the last button before looking up. Jordan nods, still smiling.

“Yes! Our first meeting was a little bit of a disaster,” he twists his mouth ruefully. “And our second one wasn’t much better. So I thought I’d see if you wanted to get lunch, and try and get to know each other, since we’re going to be coworkers.” He looks at Ryan hopefully, and Ryan can feel himself being charmed.

“I’m not sure,” he says, hesitating, because no matter what Jordan says about them being coworkers, Ryan’s still just the new guy on set. Jordan is much more famous, much more _interesting_ than Ryan is – what if he’s disappointed, when he realizes just how ordinary Ryan is?

“I insist,” Jordan says, reaching out and clapping Ryan on the shoulder. “I know the best restaurant in town – great food, and the desserts are fabulous. Cakes to die for.” His eyes are twinkling with mirth, and Ryan shudders.

“Anything but that,” he says, and lets Jordan lead him out towards the parking lot. Jordan purses his lips.

“Are you sure? Hallsy said that I should offer,” he says, earnestly, and Ryan laughs, unable to help himself.

“Very sure,” he says, firm, and tries not to let his heart flutter as Jordan opens the passenger door of his automobile for him.

0o0o0o0o0

“Hey, movie star!” Taylor calls, leaning out the door of his piano room as he sees Jordan passing, clearly on his way somewhere. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Meeting Ryan for drinks,” Jordan says, his voice casual. _Too casual_ , Taylor thinks, frowning.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ryan, lately,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice as neutral as possible. “It’s like I never see you, anymore,” he laments, joking to cover up the stab of real hurt that goes through him. Jordan is _Taylor’s_ best friend.

Jordan waves a hand at him. “You live with me, you’d think you’d be sick of me by now,” he says easily.

“Never,” Taylor gasps, holding a hand to his heart like he’s been stabbed. Jordan laughs, like he’s supposed to, and Taylor stuffs his reaction to that down and sits on it. Jordan’s never shown the slightest sign of returning his feelings, Taylor reminds himself sternly. If he did, surely he would have mentioned it by now.

“Do you want to come?” Jordan asks suddenly, cocking his head to one side. “You should meet Ryan.”

“I _have_ met Ryan,” Taylor reminds him. “And I can’t, not tonight – Gags and Andrew want to go over the score in the morning, and I’ve got two songs to finish, still.”

“You haven’t met him, not _really,_ ” Jordan says, shaking his head. “He’s so funny, and smart, and nice, and – “

“He sounds great,” Taylor says, forcing a smile onto his face. “Really great, Ebs, I’m glad you’re happy. But I can’t come out tonight. Maybe some other time?” he says, as Jordan looks disappointed.

“All right. But I wish you’d come – I think you’ll really like him, once you get to know him, Hallsy.” Jordan starts down the stairs towards the front door. “Good luck with the score!” he calls over his shoulder on his way out the door.

“Thanks,” Taylor says into the empty air, echoing with the sound of the front door slamming shut. He sighs and trudges back to the piano, trying not to think about what he’ll do if Jordan’s finally found someone to be really in love with.

0o0o0o0o0

Taylor watches with interest as Jordan and Nail get themselves into position on set. Gags is yelling at people the way he always does before filming starts, and Taylor makes himself look busy at the piano so he can’t be coerced into fiddling with the mic. No one’s quite sure what to do with it, yet, so Gags just shrugs and sticks a bush between it and the cameras.

“All right,” Gags says, clapping his hands together. “Places! Roll ‘em!” He ducks into the sound booth and Nail starts his line. Jordan brought the script home with them and made Taylor run lines with him, so Taylor can pretty much quote along with Nail by this point, and he privately thinks that whoever they hired to write the thing was a dud. He spent most of the time he was supposed to be running lines with Jordan making fun of the script.

Nail’s gotten as far as telling Jordan (“Pierre”) that his father will have Pierre’s head if he finds out when Gags comes back out of the sound booth and yells “Cut!”

They pause and look at Gags, curious. Gags puts his hands on his hips and sighs at them. “You guys have to talk into the mic,” he says, gesturing at the bush. “We can’t hear a word you’re saying.”

They both look abashed, nodding, and Gags gestures to reset the scene. “Quiet!” he calls, glaring around until everyone is. “Roll ‘em!” He ducks back into the booth. They try it again, but Taylor can tell even before Gags pops back out and yells “Cut!” that it’s not working.

“Guys, seriously,” Gags says, and Nail scowls. “Cannot flirt with _bush_ ,” he complains, and Jordan nods. Taylor stifles a grin as Jordan’s wig slips down his forehead and he has to push it back into place.

“All right, we’ll think of something else,” Gags says, looking down at his clipboard and making a face. “You two, go off and run lines for a bit. We’ll come and get you when we’re ready.” They get whisked away by their diction coaches for a little more practice, although Taylor’s pretty certain that Nail’s not going to be able to get rid of his accent that quickly. He’s trying, though.

What they come up with, finally, is a ridiculous-looking chest decoration for Nail, who makes a face when it’s presented to him but suffers through having it pinned to his costume. Jordan wanders over to Taylor and leans against the piano.

“How’s it going?” Taylor asks, playing through a couple of bars he’s thinking about using as Nail’s theme before frowning and tweaking the last chord progression so it modulates to minor - Nail’s character’s life isn’t supposed to be happy.

“Well, we’re way behind schedule,” Jordan says, reaching up to run his hands through his hair and frowning when he gets the wig instead. Taylor snorts and Jordan glares at him, but honestly, you’d think he’d never worn a wig before.

“Figured,” Taylor says. “What do you think of this for Nail?” He plays through the bit of music again, this time slowing dramatically in the middle. Jordan cocks his head.

“I like it,” he says. “What do you have for me?”

Taylor plays the first few bars of “Baby Face” before Jordan scowls at him and punches him in the arm. “Very funny, Hallsy.”

“I thought so,” Taylor says, then nudges Jordan in the ribs. “You’re due back on set, I think. Lunch when you’re through today?”

“I’m meeting Ryan at the Cicada,” Jordan says, pushing off the piano and heading back to the set. “Rain check?”

“Sure,” Taylor says, turning back to his piano. He grabs a pencil and copies down what he has for Nail’s theme and starts figuring out how to expand it, determinedly not thinking about what Jordan meeting Ryan for lunch at the Cicada might mean.

0o0o0o0o0

Ryan steps onto the soundstage just as Sam is yelling “Quiet! Roll ‘em!” in a pained tone, so he presses himself up against the wall and watches as Nail and Jordan run through their scene—or try to. Sam pops out of the sound booth and yells “Cut!” before they’ve managed to get halfway through it, looking a little wild around the eyes, and Ryan takes the opportunity to come closer. He sees Taylor working at a piano off to the left of the set and wanders over to lean up against it.

“How’s it going?” he asks, and Taylor shoots him a pained glance.

“They’ve been trying to get this scene shot for—“ he glances up at the big soundstage clock and grimaces, “going on four hours now.”

“Four _hours?_ ” Ryan looks around, shocked. “What’s happened?”

“What _hasn’t_ happened,” Taylor mutters, slamming a couple of keys together discordantly. Ryan jumps a little, and Taylor pulls a face. “Mic trouble. Line trouble. Andrew wandered through here half an hour ago to see what was going on and accidentally unplugged the sound booth, so we had to get that re-set up. Nail and Jordan are about to murder someone, oh, and Tambellini decided to grace us with his presence.” He gestures across the lot at a square-faced man with a big nose who is talking to Sam and making emphatic gestures. “That’ll slow us down even more. You waiting for Jordan to go to lunch?”

“We were supposed to go half an hour ago,” Ryan says, feeling his cheeks heat up a little.

“Well, let’s go,” Taylor says, putting his pencil behind his ear as he gets up from behind the piano and stretches. Ryan catches his eyes lingering on Taylor’s shoulders and looks away quickly, meeting Taylor’s eyes.

“Wait, what?” he asks, as Taylor throws an arm around his shoulders and starts leading him off the soundstage.

“Let’s go get lunch, I’m starving and I bet you are too,” Taylor says. “Ebs isn’t going to be done in there for another couple of hours, by the looks of it.”

Ryan makes a face, glancing back over his shoulder at the set. Sam is saying something to Nail, who doesn’t look happy about it, and Jordan’s watching him and Taylor. When he sees Ryan looking, he nods and waves at him, mouthing “Go on,” so Ryan turns back to Taylor. He’s still a little wary, but Taylor is in all of Jordan’s stories and he’s a little curious about the man himself.

“Okay,” he says, and Taylor grins at him.

“Excellent,” he says. “Ebs has done nothing but talk about how great you are for weeks, I think it’s time the two of us got to know each other, don’t you?”

0o0o0o0o0

The problem with Ryan, Taylor thinks as he waits outside the theater for Jordan and Ryan to arrive for the preview, is that he’s so _nice_. He’s also funny, and charming, and handsome, and joins Taylor in calling Jordan out whenever he starts getting ahead of himself. Ryan, in short, is too good to be true, which is why it was inevitable that Jordan met him first, before Taylor could get a word in. Not to mention the fact that Taylor’s never seen Jordan flirt with anyone the way he’s been flirting with Ryan before. He’s getting confused, and he can’t decide who he’s more jealous of - Ryan, for the way Jordan acts around him, or Jordan, for having Ryan. Either way, he thinks gloomily, it’s the two of them and then me. I’ll never have either of them now.

He sees Jordan pull up and shakes himself out of his thoughts, grinning encouragement at him. Jordan’s face is pale and his smile looks pasted on, clear signs that he’s more nervous than he’s letting on. Taylor reaches out and pulls him into a hug, clapping him on the back. “It’ll be great,” he says, just as Ryan appears behind him, getting out of a cab.

“Ready?” he asks, and Jordan struggles out from the arm Taylor has clamped around his neck to turn and smile at Ryan. That smile looks a little more real, which sends a dart of jealousy through Taylor. He used to be the only one who could pull Jordan out of one of his moods.

“Ready,” he says, and offers his arm to Ryan, who shakes his head, looking around apprehensively.

“I can’t, you know it,” he says. “Go on in, sit with Taylor and Nail. I’ll be your cheering section in the back.”

“But—“ Jordan starts to say, but Ryan’s already flashed him a smile and vanished into the theater. Jordan stares after him, forlorn, until Taylor thumps him on the shoulder—maybe a little harder than necessary, but goddammit, this isn’t exactly fun for him to watch.

“Let’s go, buddy,” he says, and luckily Jordan’s too busy being preoccupied by his whatever-it-is with Ryan, because he doesn’t notice that Taylor’s tone is several degrees off his normal.

The movie starts fairly well—Taylor’s quite pleased with how his score came out, even if he needs to have a word with Andrew about getting a new clarinet player—but it starts going to pieces as soon as Nail opens his mouth.

There’s a lot of shocked whispering, at first, and then some titters, and before long the audience is laughing uproariously whenever Nail says anything. Taylor doesn’t think they’re laughing at the absurdly bad dialogue, either, and feels his hands ball into fists. Nail, sitting two seats over, is stiff with hurt and anger, and Jordan, next to him, is radiating fury.  And that’s before something goes wrong with the sound equipment, and Nail’s voice is suddenly coming from Jordan’s mouth, telling his lover that he shouldn’t have come as Jordan emotes longingly. Then Jordan’s voice is coming from Nail’s mouth, spinning one of the floweriest, most unrealistic speeches Taylor’s ever heard as Nail scowls angrily. Taylor digs his nails into his palms and grits his teeth.

Taylor hustles Nail and Jordan out of the theater just as the credits start rolling, and pulls them over to stand in the shadow of the building while he goes and calls for the cars to be brought ‘round. He gets back just in time to hear one of the patrons saying, loudly, “I can’t believe they let someone like _that_ be in the movies,” and has to run over and grab Jordan by the shoulder to prevent him from doing something stupid.

Ryan, who was right behind the man who made the comment, is white with fury by the time he reaches their little group in the shadows. “I thought you were both wonderful,” he says, loyally, and Nail gives him a small smile, a pale imitation of his usual sunny grin.

“Script awful. And then, of course—my accent.” He sighs. “Thank you, though.” His car pulls up just then, and he reaches over to squeeze Jordan and Ryan’s shoulders before hurrying over and folding himself into the car. Taylor catches a glimpse of another broad-shouldered silhouette in the backseat as Nail’s car pulls away and remembers that Nail had said his friend Alex would be coming to the premiere. He’s glad that Nail has someone to comfort him, and that none of the press has made it back to them yet, although he’s also surprised—he’d expect them to be all over this.

Jordan’s car pulls up just as Nail’s is pulling out, and Taylor shoves Jordan and Ryan toward it gently. Ryan climbs in without a word, but Jordan turns and frowns at him when he doesn’t immediately follow them. “Hallsy,” he says, confused. “You’re coming, too, right?”

Taylor’s never been able to tell Jordan “no,” not when he looks like that. He sighs and climbs into the car after Jordan, resigning himself to being squashed against the door.

0o0o0o0o0

Ryan exchanges a look with Taylor as Jordan mopes around the kitchen, making very depressed looking sandwiches. Taylor has an unhappy twist to his mouth, watching Jordan, and Ryan feels a little out of place - the two of them clearly have a routine for times like these, as evidenced by the fact that as soon as they’d gotten to Jordan’s place Taylor had headed straight for the kitchen and pulled out a saucepan to make cocoa as Jordan got out plates and cups and started making sandwiches. The only reason Ryan hasn’t made his excuses and run away already is that Jordan had gotten out three cups and plates without even seeming to think about it, and Taylor was making far too much cocoa for two. He doesn’t really have anything to do, though, so he perches himself on a stool next to the counter and watches them in silence.

Jordan finishes first, bringing the sandwiches over to the table, and Ryan gets up from his stool to follow him. Jordan hands him a plate and Ryan picks it up and bites into it without looking at it, just for something to do.

It’s a really good sandwich, he realizes, looking down at it in surprise as he chews and swallows that first bite. He catches Jordan looking at him just as he’s taking a bigger second bite and feels his cheeks flush. “‘S really good,” he mumbles, the first words any of them have spoken since they got into the cab.

“Thanks,” Jordan says, the corners of his mouth lifting briefly - not enough for a real smile, but better than he’s looked since they came out of the theater. Over the top of Jordan’s head, Ryan sees Taylor’s head jerk up, and wonders what it must be like to be so attuned to someone else that you can hear the slightest change in moods in a single word. “Wait until you taste Hallsy’s cocoa.”

“‘s my one accomplishment in the kitchen,” Taylor proclaims, looking over his shoulder to flash Ryan a smile.

Jordan’s mouth quirks again as he picks at his own sandwich. “He’s telling the truth,” he says in lowered tones, confidingly. “Absolutely awful at everything else.”

“I heard that,” Taylor says, appearing at Jordan’s shoulder and depositing a pair of mugs on the table. “Drink up,” he says, before heading back over to collect his own mug and sandwich. Ryan curls his hands around the mug and lifts it to his nose, inhaling. It smells utterly delicious, and his mouth waters.

“Well?” Taylor prompts, plopping down into the chair that Jordan pulls out for him and taking an enormous bite of his sandwich. Ryan obediently takes a sip and lets out a quiet sound that has him turning pink at the burst of flavor that explodes on his tongue.

“Oh,” he says, glancing up at Taylor and Jordan, who are both staring at him. “It’s amazing,” he says, and Taylor shakes himself out of whatever weird state he’d been in to puff up with exaggerated pride.

“At least _someone_ appreciates me,” he sniffs. Jordan doesn’t seem to notice—he’s snapped out of his daze and is now staring at the table, fiddling with his sandwich. Ryan eats his own sandwich and sips at his cocoa, absently wondering if he can get the recipe out of Taylor as he watches Jordan worriedly. He’s almost done when Jordan finally lets out a massive sigh and looks up, smiling weakly at them.

“Well, it was good while it lasted, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Too bad it’s over now. Might as well start packing now,” he sighs, and Ryan scowls.

“What are you talking about,” he demands. Jordan gives him a melancholy smile.

“I’ll be run out of town after that hits theaters,” he says. “God, wasn’t it awful?”

“Dreadful,” Taylor puts in, sipping at his cocoa. “Terrible. Horrifying. Ghastly—”

“Thanks, Hallsy,” Jordan says, dry. “Can always count on you to boost my ego.”

“Hmm? We were talking about you? _I_ was talking about the script,” Taylor fires back. “And the technical difficulties. Not everything’s about you, Ebs.” He sniffs for effect, and Ryan ducks his head to hide his smile at the look on Jordan’s face.

“Well,” Jordan says after a moment, and Ryan opens his mouth to say something but Taylor flashes him a warning look so he stays quiet.

“Well, you know, I don’t think acting’s really for you,” Taylor says, thoughtful. “Your talents are better put to use elsewhere anyway, don’t you think Ryan?” Ryan nods solemnly, seeing where this is going. “With a face like that, I can definitely see you driving an ice wagon. Or selling shoes?”

“Hats, I think,” Ryan says, tilting his head to look at Jordan critically. “Or making sandwiches. Put his talents to good use.”

Taylor grins. “Worst comes to worst, we could always go back into vaudeville,” he says, getting up from the table and breaking into an abbreviated soft-shoe and humming. Ryan knew that Jordan and Taylor had been vaudeville performers—it was in the fan magazines—but he hadn’t ever seen it before. Taylor was _good_.

Jordan lets out a laugh that sounds more like a bark. “Yeah, too bad I didn’t do that in the Dueling Cavalier,” he says, gathering up his untouched sandwich and taking it back over to the refrigerator. “People might have liked it.”

Ryan is hit with an idea just then, the enormity of which leaves him breathless. “Why don’t you?” he blurts, unable to articulate it properly.

Taylor’s head jerks around and he gives him a sharp look, clearly seeing it. Jordan just laughs unhappily and leans up against the sink, crossing his arms. “No one’ll pay to come see me after the Dueling Cavalier comes out,” he says. “I could be taking a dive off the Woolworth building into a damp rag and no one would want to watch.”

“No, think about it,” Taylor says, getting up and pacing, waving his arms. “Turn the Dueling Cavalier into a musical.”

“The Dueling Cavalier?” Jordan still sounds skeptical, but he’s straightened up now, he’s listening to them.

“We’ve still got six weeks before it’s released,” Taylor says, and Ryan gets up and walks over to stand beside Jordan. “We’ve got time.”

“Fix the script, add some songs and dances—it’ll work,” Ryan says, putting his hand on Jordan’s arm and squeezing, trying to get him to see. Jordan’s frowning but it looks considering.

“Alright,” he says after a long moment. “We’ll take it to Andrew.” Ryan lets out a cheer, and Taylor grabs Ryan and dances him across the room, singing something about his love in the moonlight to the tune of Nail’s theme from the movie, only to pull up short when Jordan groans.

“There’s still—Nail,” he says, sounding desperately unhappy. “They were awful to him, I don’t want to put him through this.”

Taylor and Ryan move apart, coming to lean up against the sink on either side of Jordan. “Poor Nail,” Ryan murmurs. “He didn’t deserve that.”

They’re silent for a moment longer, then Taylor bolts upright with a shout. “I’ve got it!” he yells. “Ryan, c’mere.”

He positions himself in front of Ryan, almost completely blocking him from view. “Sing something,” he says, and Ryan, puzzled, does, starting in on the chorus of “Ain’t She Sweet.” He only gets a few lines in before Taylor steps aside and turns, looking between them both. “See?”

Ryan’s still confused, but Jordan looks like he might understand. “Use Ryan’s voice for Nail?” he asks. Taylor nods, and Ryan brightens. Jordan’s face falls, though.

“We can’t do that to Ryan,” he protests, and Ryan elbows him in the side.

“I’m _offering_ ,” he says. “For this one, to save Eberle and Yakupov.” Jordan looks for a moment as though he’s going to argue, but Taylor reaches out and puts him in a headlock.

“Didn’t your mother teach you how to show gratitude,” he scolds, and Jordan wrestles out of his hold, laughing.

“All right! All right!” He holds his hands up in surrender. Ryan beams.

“Jordan, it’s going to be amazing,” he says, and grabs Jordan by the shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. He’s a little amazed by his own daring, but Jordan doesn’t seem to mind. Behind him, Taylor lets out an exaggerated huff.

“Well I’m glad you thought of it,” he says, and he clearly means for it to be teasing but there’s a hurt undertone there, so Ryan spins around and grabs him by the shoulders.

“Taylor, it’s going to be amazing,” he says, grinning, and leans in meaning to drop a kiss on Taylor’s nose, but his aim is off (that’s his story and he’s sticking to it) and it lands on Taylor’s mouth, which drops open in surprise. Taylor jerks a little, like he’s thinking about pulling away, but Ryan’s still gripping his shoulders so he can’t. When he lets go of Taylor and turns, Jordan’s eyes are dark and greedy on the two of them, and Ryan shivers a little. Taylor, standing beside him, swallows hard. Jordan notices and smiles at them.

“We’ll talk to Andrew and Sam and Nail about it in the morning.”

“Jordan, it’s _already_ morning,” Ryan says, pointing at the clock hanging above the oven. “It’s 1:30. And a lovely morning, too,” he says, peering out the window at the rare rainstorm blowing outside.

“Is it really that late?” Jordan demands, getting up and peering at the clock. “We’d better get you home, then - don’t you have to be on set early tomorrow?” Ryan blinks at the reminder, nods, and then the three of them scramble out of the kitchen to grab their rain gear, laughing all the way.

0o0o0o0o0

The next morning, Taylor tags along with Jordan to watch him pitch the idea to Sam, Andrew and Nail, purely as moral support. He feels like things should have changed between them after what happened in the kitchen last night, but they haven’t, or at least not in the way he was expecting. He’d been worried that Jordan would be upset about Ryan kissing him, and giving him the cold shoulder even though Taylor _absolutely_ hadn’t started it, but instead Jordan’s been humming happily and was even more tactile than usual this morning. Taylor isn’t sure what to do, but he’s happy to sit back and let Jordan call the shots, because it’s a formula that’s worked for them for almost 20 years now.

Sam and Andrew are interested and willing to be convinced, Taylor can see as Jordan explains their idea. Nail is interested but much more skeptical—and deservedly so, after that trainwreck. He perks up a little when he hears their plan for switching out his voice, letting his feet drop from where he’d propped them up on Andrew’s desk and leaning forward in his chair.

“I like it,” Andrew says, after a few moments of consideration, looking around at all of them. “Sam?”

Sam’s frowning, thoughtful. “We’ll be cutting it pretty close,” he says. “But I think we have to do it. There’s no way we can release what we had, we’d be laughed out of the business. Nail?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Nail says, emphatically. “This Ryan, he will be my voice?”

“Just for this one picture,” Jordan says immediately, firm on this point. Nail waves a hand in acknowledgement.

“Yes, yes, just this one picture—my last picture, I think.”

There is an immediate clamour at that, Sam and Andrew and Jordan all jumping in to protest. Taylor stays silent, noting the look of stubborn resolve on Nail’s face. He’s unlikely to be talked into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

“Yes, last picture,” he says, interrupting all of them. “Tired of always make same movie, over and over and over again. Tired of always be asked about dating Jordan.” He makes a face and Taylor laughs at Jordan’s offended expression. “Script for _Dueling Cavalier_ awful. I think--I can write better. So I will.” He grins at them, pleased.

Jordan opens his mouth to protest, then clearly thinks the better of it. Personally, Taylor thinks that Nail will probably be an excellent script writer, and an excellent director if he ever decides he wants to do that as well. He’s always had great suggestions and ideas, and recently he’s seemed fed up with the movies he’s been making, which _have_ essentially been the same movie set in different historical periods.

“We’ll need a new name,” Sam says, tapping his fingers on Andrew’s desks. “If it’s going to be a musical, it should have a musical name.”

Taylor’s had the perfect name sitting on the tip of his tongue since breakfast this morning. He hasn’t even told Jordan yet, because he wanted to savor it.

“How about: _The Dancing Cavalier_.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, then Andrew nods. “I like it. We’ll need to fix it up a bit—Nail and Jordan have both made their opinions about the script known, and we’ll want an excuse to have modern musical numbers—”

“Let me,” Nail said quickly. “I have many ideas.”

Sam shrugs when Andrew glances over at him. “I don’t see a problem with it. You know I’m not a script writer.”

“I think he’d be good,” Jordan pipes up, and Andrew nods his permission.

“I’ll want to see a draft on my desk in three days,” he says, and Nail nods, beaming.

“You’ve got at least half of it written already, don’t you,” Taylor mutters to Nail as he, Taylor and Jordan walk out of Andrew’s office. Nail smirks, raising his eyebrow at where Jordan’s hand is resting on Taylor’s back, but doesn’t disagree. Taylor flushes but doesn’t move to dislodge Jordan, instead drifting so that their shoulders bump together as they walk down the hall.

0o0o0o0o0

Ryan’s humming the chorus to the sappy love song that he finished recording that morning and smiling to himself as he hurries through the offices at Monumental. He’s just gotten out of a meeting with Andrew and Sam and some of the other studio executives. They’re busily planning his debut as an actor after _The Dancing Cavalier_ comes out, so Ryan is excited and on his way to meet Taylor and Jordan for dinner when he turns a corner and almost knocks someone over.

“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Lowe, I didn’t see you there,” Ryan says apologetically to the man, one of the studio executives he’d been introduced to in the meeting earlier. “Here, let me get that—“ he  reaches down and helps to gather up the papers that Mr. Lowe had been holding, settling them into a neat stack before holding them out. Mr. Lowe takes the papers with a smile.

“You’re in quite a hurry,” he says, and Ryan flushes a little. “Dinner date?”

Ryan shrugs, but he’s afraid that he’s grinning like an idiot. They haven’t had a lot of time to talk, recently, what with how busy all three of them have been trying to make _The Dancing Cavalier_ a reality, but he’s pretty sure that they’re heading that way. Ever since the night when they came up with the idea to turn the movie into a musical, he’s been spending all his free time with Taylor and Jordan, talking about everything and nothing. No one’s said anything yet, but both of them keep _looking_ at him, and they’re always finding excuses to touch him and each other. He finds himself making the same sort of excuses, so he’s planning on asking about it tonight, at dinner, and he’s running late. Mr. Lowe winks at him.

“Don’t let me keep you,” he says, and disappears into his office. Ryan blinks—he thought everyone had already left for the evening—before shaking his head and hurrying out to the parking lot, where Taylor has started pointedly honking his horn.

Dinner is delicious, but Ryan has a sudden attack of nerves halfway through and ends up mostly picking at his meal. Jordan and Taylor have been exchanging speaking looks all evening and no matter how _sure_ he is that their upcoming conversation will go the way he thinks (hopes) it’s going to go, he still can’t help but feel that it’s going to go wrong, somehow. Jordan will have decided that he can’t endanger his career by dating two people at once, perhaps, or Taylor will reveal that he doesn’t like Ryan _that way_ , or—he cuts his train of thought off firmly and stabs at his salmon.

Jordan gets the check, and all three of them pile into Taylor’s car. He drives them back to Jordan’s house without comment, and they wind up in Jordan’s kitchen, standing around the countertop and staring at each other. Jordan is the first to break the silence.

“So,” he says, and then stops. Ryan and Taylor both look at him expectantly, and Taylor turns to Ryan with a wry expression when it becomes apparent that there’s no more forthcoming.

“ _So,”_ he says in his best Jordan impersonation as Jordan himself turns red. “Oh, Jordan Eberle! So eloquent, so articulate! Ryan, hold me—I think I might faint,” he puts his hand to his forehead and fakes a swoon into Ryan’s arms. Ryan’s laughing hard enough that he almost doesn’t catch him, and Taylor grins and winks at him. Even Jordan is laughing as he comes up and punches Taylor in the arm.

“You dick,” he says, but the tension’s gone out of him now, which was clearly what Taylor had been aiming for. Ryan shoves Taylor away gently and Jordan steadies him, and the three of them smile at each other for a moment.

“Are we doing this, then?” Jordan asks, looking between Ryan and Taylor for confirmation. “Because—well. I mean. I’d like to try.”

“Such romance,” Taylor mutters. “I see why all the girls are swooning over you, Ebs.”

Ryan agrees. “3 out of 10. I guess we know why Nail’s the writer, now.” Jordan throws up his hands.

“I don’t know why I like either of you,” he says, scowling at them both. Ryan and Taylor grin at each other.

“Aww, he liiiiiiiiiiiikes us,” Ryan drawls, wandering over to Jordan and draping himself against his side. Taylor comes up on the other side and wraps his arms around Jordan, who’s struggling half-heartedly to get away.

“No I don’t,” Jordan says, but his tone and the way he wraps his arms around both of them and doesn’t let go give him the lie.

“It’s okay, we won’t tell,” Taylor stage-whispers, before leaning in to press a kiss to Jordan’s cheek. “I’m in if you both are.”

“Same,” Ryan says, leaning in to press a kiss of his own to Jordan’s other cheek. Jordan’s smile could light up Hollywood Boulevard.

“I guess we’re doing this, then,” he says, and presses kisses to both their lips. Ryan and Taylor look at each other and both reach in to tickle Jordan at the same time, causing the three of them to collapse to the floor in a writhing, laughing, flailing pile of limbs. Ryan’s heart feels like it’s about to burst. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy.

0o0o0o0o0

“Oh god,” Ryan groans, and Taylor glances up from his piano at the sound. Jordan’s head jerks up from where he’s laid out on the couch with a script over his face and he flails in surprise, almost falling off.

“What? Who? Where?” he says, looking around wildly, and Taylor snickers. Jordan scowls at him, but Taylor just snickers harder, because his hair is a wreck and the script has left a smudge of ink along his right cheek. Ryan coughs, sounding like he might be hiding a laugh, and Jordan turns to pout at him.

“Not fair, ganging up on me,” he says, but he’s fighting a smile. Taylor gets up and comes over to sit next to him, leaning in to steal a kiss.

“You’ve got a little something, right there,” he says when he breaks the kiss. Jordan blinks at him, confused.

“Huh?”

“Right there,” Ryan agrees, coming over from his chair to kiss Jordan on the cheek where the smudge is. Jordan rubs at it absently, then frowns down at the black marks on his fingers. Taylor hands him the handkerchief he carries for his own ink stains and Jordan takes it with a smile.

“Ugh,” he says, finally. “Whatever. Thanks. Ryan, why’d you say ‘Oh god’ earlier?”

“Hmm?” Ryan blinks, looking down at them, then sighs. “Oh. It’s getting late. I should be getting back to my boardinghouse.”

“What? No,” Taylor protests. “It can’t be that late, it’s only – “

“12:30,” Ryan says, stretching and groaning. Taylor gets distracted watching (he can see Jordan being just as distracted out of the corner of his eye) and only belatedly realizes what Ryan has said.

“It is _not_ ,” he says, aghast, and fumbles for Jordan’s hand, and his watch, pulling it towards him to read the time. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Well. I didn’t notice.”

“We know,” Jordan says, sounding fond. “Anyway, Ryan, why don’t you just stay here?”

“What?” Ryan sounds tired, and confused, but Taylor likes the sound of that idea.

“Yes, stay here. The bed’s plenty big enough for all of us, and we all have to be the same place in the morning.” He nods firmly. Ryan staying the night just makes sense.

“Well, okay,” Ryan says, sounding still confused but happy. Taylor reaches up and pulls him down for a brief kiss, then gets up and leads the way towards the bedroom, tugging Ryan by the hand. Jordan brings up the rear, still rubbing at the smudge on his cheek.

0o0o0o0o0

They’re coming down to the last weeks before _The Dancing Cavalier_ is due to be released, and all three of them are insanely busy. Ryan and Jordan are both at the studio all hours of the day and night, singing and dancing and acting, while Taylor alternately chains himself to his piano to work on the music for the film and rehearses with the musicians in the recording studio, doing take after take until Gags is satisfied.

They haven’t managed to have all three of them be in the same place for more than about half an hour at a time except to sleep since that momentous dinner, and Taylor has to keep telling himself sternly not to be disappointed. They’ll have plenty of time to settle into their new relationship once they’ve finished with _The Dueling Cavalier_ , not that he’s kidding himself that it’ll be easy. Jordan’s already a megastar, and Taylor knows that there’s a plan in place to push Ryan to the same status once this mess is over. No one would mind if the two of them were dating each other, except possibly for the fans who were convinced that Nail and Jordan were secretly dating, but the fact that both of them are _also_ dating _him_ —they haven’t had much of a chance to talk about it, but everyone seems to agree that it would be best to keep that particular secret from the press.

Still, he _has_ been missing them, so when Ryan drops by the room where Taylor’s been sitting at his piano, trying to get the score for the modern dances to fit in with what he’s already written for the French Revolution scenes, he takes advantage of the fact that for once no one’s around to back him against the wall, kissing him hungrily. Ryan kisses back just as passionately, and Taylor hums smugly into the kiss—apparently he hasn’t been the only one who’s been feeling a little crazy that they never have any time together. Ryan is a cheater, though, because he bites down on Taylor’s lower lip in a way that’s calculated to make Taylor groan and crowd even closer to him, so there’s no space between them at all as he slots one leg between Ryan’s and grinds into him.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall causes them to spring apart. Taylor hurriedly sits back down at his piano, and Ryan clears his throat and hurries around to the other side of him, so that the piano and Taylor are between him and the door. Taylor groans a little in frustration, and from the heated look Ryan’s sending him, he’s not alone. The footsteps turn out to be Mr. Lowe, who has some questions for Taylor about the new musicians they’ve hired to supplement the studio’s orchestra. Ryan, seeing that Mr. Lowe’s questions will probably take a while, says his goodbyes, and blows Taylor a kiss with a wink from the doorway behind Mr. Lowe’s back. Taylor is simultaneously warmed and intensely frustrated.

He tracks Jordan down on one of his increasingly rare breaks, backing him into a dark corner and kissing him fiercely. It’s nothing at all like kissing Ryan. Kissing Ryan is fun, exciting, and full of teasing. Kissing Jordan is both more intense and more careful, as both of them take this new thing and fit it into what they know about each other. They get a few delicious moments, and then the sound of something falling over on set, and the truly foul curses it engenders, causes them to spring apart. Jordan makes an inarticulate noise of frustration, staring at Taylor’s mouth, and Taylor smirks at him, smug, and darts back in for a last, brief kiss, more a brush of lips than anything.

“Hurry up and finish shooting, movie star,” he murmurs, and vanishes back to his piano before he learns whether or not Jordan can actually murder him with his eyes. Or cause his clothes to spontaneously incinerate—he’s not sure which one Jordan had been going for, but either way there’s no point in risking it.

0o0o0o0o0

They’re only a week out from the premiere when it all goes to hell.

Ryan’s finished filming his scenes—he’s a very minor character in the modern scenes, in addition to supplying Nail’s voice—so mostly what he does is sit around and wait to record over Nail’s scenes after they’ve been shot. He’s used to hurry up and wait (he’s in show business, after all) but this has been taking it to a whole new level. He’d go and hang out with Taylor, but the last time Ryan saw him, Taylor’d had a wild-eyed look about him as he frantically churned out music. In the interest of not snapping Taylor’s currently-fragile sanity, Ryan is staying away. He’s staying away from Jordan, too, because when he’d tried to hang around behind the scenes Jordan kept spotting him, getting distracted and ruining takes.

He’s occupying his time hanging out on a bench in the offices, reading through a script that Nail had handed him the other day because he wanted some feedback. And it’s _good_ —Ryan’s so caught up in wanting to find out what happens next that he almost misses the raised voices coming from the nearby office he’d thought was empty.

“—I _told_ you I’d have the money for you. You just have to give me more time.” The voice sounds familiar.

“And I told _you_ , the price went up. It’s three thousand now. It’ll go up again if you keep me waiting.” This voice is unfamiliar, and full of gruff menace.

“All right! All right—look. Here, let me write you a check.” The familiar voice is short and clipped, sounding frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to write that off as.”

“Not my problem,” the gruff voice says, and there’s the sound of paper tearing. “I’m sure you’ll think of something—you always do.”

The door opens and a short, unfamiliar man with dark hair and broad shoulders comes out. Ryan instinctively flattens himself against the wall, hiding himself badly behind one of the potted plants that Andrew has insisted on having throughout the offices. He’s lucky—the strange man turns and marches down the hallway away from Ryan, which causes Ryan to let out a short sigh of relief that cuts off when Mr. Lowe, the studio executive, also appears in the doorway. Ryan thinks for a brief, wild moment that he might turn and go after the man, but instead he shuts the door carefully and glances around the hallway. His eyes fall on Ryan and for a moment they’re both frozen, eyes wide, Ryan clutching his script and Mr. Lowe the doorknob.

Then Mr. Lowe’s eyes are narrowing and he’s crossing over to Ryan, who’s still shocked into stillness. Mr. Lowe looms over him, placing a hand on the wall beside Ryan’s head and leaning in close.

“If you ever breathe a _word_ of what you just heard, I will make sure that you never work in this town again,” Mr. Lowe says, his voice quiet and full of menace. “You, or Eberle, or Hall.” Ryan starts, a little, his mouth dropping open, and Mr. Lowe smiles. It is not a nice smile. “Yeah, kid, I saw you with _both_ of them. So. We clear?”

Ryan swallows hard around his dry throat and nods. Mr. Lowe smiles again.

“Good talk, kid,” he says, and straightens up. He walks away with his hands in his pockets, whistling, leaving Ryan frozen on his bench. He stays there until Gags comes looking for him, then gets up and follows him in a daze.

0o0o0o0o0

Taylor hasn’t seen Ryan in two days. Jordan, on the rare occasions that Taylor sees _him_ , says the same thing. On the one hand, that’s not exactly surprising—they’re less than a week out from the premiere, and the studio’s been running them all into the ground trying to get everything reshot and re-recorded and put together on time—but they’ve been this busy for several weeks now, and Ryan had always managed to find _some_ time for them before.

Taylor’s determined to find out what’s going on, so he grabs Jordan once he’s finished with his afternoon meeting—the studio execs keep pulling him in to talk to him about how they’re going to handle the end of Eberle and Yakupov, and what they want him to do next—and the two of them lurk conspicuously outside of the studio where Ryan is recording the last of Nail’s lines.

The door opens eventually and expels Gags and Nail, who grunt at Taylor and Jordan, clearly exhausted. They catch a glimpse of Ryan still inside, probably fiddling with the equipment, and Taylor frowns when several minutes pass and Ryan doesn’t come out. He exchanges a glance with Jordan, who raises his eyebrows and jerks his head at the door. Taylor nods, feeling something unpleasant squirm its way down his spine and take up residence as a heavy weight in his stomach.

Ryan’s face when he sees them come into the studio doesn’t do anything to make Taylor feel better. He tries to smile, but there’s something wrong with it, and Taylor can tell without even looking at him that Jordan’s thinking the same thing. He looks terrible, too—his already pale skin has started taking on an unhealthy translucent look, his eyes are bloodshot and underlined by dark smudges so severe that they look like the beginnings of black eyes. He hadn’t come over to Jordan’s to sleep with the two of them the past two nights—now Taylor’s wondering whether or not he’s slept at all.

“Ryan?” Jordan says, sounding tentative. “Are you okay?”

“Hi, guys. I’m fine, Jordan,” Ryan says. He’s a really good actor—Taylor’s seen him—but just now, Taylor’s not buying any of it. Something’s wrong, and Ryan hasn’t said anything, and he’s avoiding them. The unpleasant feeling in his stomach starts winding tendrils up through his body, wrapping around his heart and squeezing tight.

“Are you sure?” Taylor asks, doing his best to make his voice sound normal. “You didn’t come home last night. Or the night before.”

Ryan shoves a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and blows out a breath. “Yeah, I had to stay late, I didn’t want to wake you up—you guys don’t get enough sleep as it is.”

Jordan lets out a laugh, sounding a little disbelieving. “We wouldn’t have minded, Ryan, honestly—you look awful, you haven’t been getting enough sleep either. Are you done here? That was the last scene, right?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, his voice soft. “I mean—“ he falters, looking at something over Taylor and Jordan’s shoulders. Taylor looks back, but all he sees is the back of someone’s head through the recording booth’s tiny window. They’re walking away, so Taylor turns back to Ryan, whose look of horror is so fleeting and immediately well-hidden that Taylor thinks he must have imagined it. “Actually, I just remembered, there was something else that Gags wanted me to do—I’ll talk to you guys later,” he says, and makes as though to push past them and out of the recording booth. Jordan stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Ryan—something’s wrong. Tell us what it is?” Jordan’s voice is pleading. Ryan’s mouth works, for a moment, but nothing comes out. Jordan presses closer. “We can help,” he says, low, a promise, but Ryan shakes his head and jerks away.

“I can’t,” he says, and the words sound like they’ve been ripped out of his throat. “I just—I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Taylor demands, feeling the bands around his heart tighten. “Can’t tell us? Can’t do this anymore? Ryan, _what?_ ”

“I _can’t_ ,” is all Ryan says, his voice anguished. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and then he pushes out of the recording booth while they’re both too stunned to stop him. Taylor feels the bands around his heart tighten one last time and crack it clean in two. It shouldn’t hurt so much—their relationship was so new it hadn’t even had a chance to get off the ground—but goddamn if it doesn’t feel like the world is falling to pieces around him.

0o0o0o0o0

Ryan avoids looking himself in the eyes while he washes his face. He knows his skin is red and puffy and his eyes are bloodshot from crying himself to sleep the night before. He slept terribly, just like he has every night since Mr. Lowe cornered him and he realized he had to break it off with Jordan and Taylor. He hadn’t thought that the sleeping habits of less than three weeks could override 20 years of sleeping alone, but he’s been finding it impossible to drop off without Jordan and Taylor tangled around him.

There’s a rap at his door as he dries his face off, and he shrugs into a shirt, hurriedly buttoning it up. “I’m coming!” he calls as the knock sounds again, fumbling a little with the last button. He finally gives it up and pulls the door open. His landlady eyes his poorly buttoned shirt and haggard face and sniffs disapprovingly. “Yes?” Ryan says, trying to be polite. Mrs. Charles had made no secret of her disapproval of his profession when he moved in.

“A Mr. Ference called for you,” she informs him tartly. “He asked me to tell you to go and see him straight away.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Charles,” Ryan says, a little puzzled. Andrew’s never called his boardinghouse before. Mrs. Charles harrumphs, giving him another judgmental look. Ryan would find it funny if he didn’t feel so awful—he looks like someone who came home and curled up on his bed immediately after work, too miserable even to go out and drown his sorrows, and she thinks he was out drinking and carousing until all hours of the night. Instead he shuts the door after nodding politely at her and finishes getting dressed and ready to go. He finally looks at himself—really looks at himself—in the mirror just as he’s about to leave, and winces. He’d known he looked bad, but it was one thing to know that intellectually, and another to have to face the physical proof. Unfortunately, there’s really nothing he can do. With one last grimace at his reflection, he heads off to work.

0o0o0o0o0

“—think _I_ did this? You think—you! You say this it! But no, too much money in _Eberle and Yakupov_ —“

“Nail, please calm down. You mean you _didn’t_ —“

The door to Andrew’s office is open slightly, the sounds of an argument drifting out. Ryan wonders for a moment if he should come back later, but Andrew doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean and he’d asked Ryan to see him straight away, so he knocks on the doorframe. Andrew glances up, frowning, and grimaces when he sees who’s standing at his door. “Ah, Ryan, come in—and shut the door, please.”

Ryan does, feeling nervous. Nail’s standing in the far corner of Andrew’s office, glowering, and Sam is perched on the edge of Andrew’s desk, leafing through what looks like a stack of today’s papers. Ryan glances down at them and starts. “Is that—“

“—reviews of _The Dancing Cavalier?_ Yup.” Sam pulls one out of the stack and holds it up, clearing his throat. “‘Jordan Eberle and Nail Yakupov are simply sensational. There were some concerns about how Eberle and Yakupov would translate to talkies, but both men maintain their trademark strong screen presence and add a set of excellent singing voices. Not to be missed.’” He sets it down. “Or this one: ‘Eberle is rock solid, a testament to his history in vaudeville and on the stage, but Yakupov is a revelation. His voice could charm the birds out of the air.’” He picks up another one, and reads, “‘If Yakupov and Eberle grow tired of making movies, either could easily transition into music. Both are strong singers, and would certainly release excellent records.’”

Ryan looks from Sam to Andrew to Nail and back again, confused. All three of them are wearing grim expression. “So the critics liking it is a bad thing,” he says, finally. “Why?”

“ _Eberle and Yakupov_ ,” Nail spits, disgusted, and the penny drops. There had been all those plans—he was supposed to get full screen credit for performing as Nail’s voice—and now. . .

“Oh,” he says, his voice quiet.

Andrew sighs, running his hands through his hair. “Ryan, I’m sorry—there must have been a mistake. We weren’t supposed to screen _The Dueling Cavalier_ for critics until tomorrow—I don’t know how this happened, but I’m going to try and fix it.”

“Uh, boss?” Sam says. He’s still holding _The Hollywood Times_ , and his gaze seems stuck on something halfway down the page. “We, uh—we might not be able to do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Andrew leans forward and grabs the paper out of Sam’s hands, shaking it out so he can see. “What do you mean—oh.”

“‘An executive at Monumental Pictures reveals plans for many more talkies starring the famous duo,’” Sam quotes, sounding bleak. “‘“We’re very proud of both Jordan and Nail,” says the source, “and we look forward to seeing what they can do for years to come.”’”

Andrew looks up from the paper, his face thunderous. “We had a _plan_ ,” he snarls. “We had your whole roll-out all planned, Ryan—I have a _press release_ on my _desk_ about how this is Nail’s last movie that was going to run _tomorrow_. And now—I’m so sorry, Ryan, Nail.” He sounds bleak. “I don’t know who did this, but someone higher than me on the totem pole has decided to switch things up.”

Ryan feels frozen in place, his thoughts racing. _Mr. Lowe did this_ , he thinks, he _knows_. Mr. Lowe did this—but why?

 _To ruin my career_ , he thinks, a rush of anger blazing through him. And this _will_ ruin him—he’d signed a five year contract with Monumental Pictures, with the understanding that they were going to build him up so that he could take Nail’s place opposite Jordan on the screen, while Nail wrote and directed their films. If they’ve changed their minds, there’s no way for him to get out of the contract and go work for another studio. He’ll be stuck—and clearly they mean to go on using him for his voice, had decided that the known quantity of _Eberle and Yakupov_ was worth more to them than he was. And no one would believe him if he tried to tell them that _he_ was Nail Yakupov’s voice—Nail is too big a star, he’d be laughed at.

On the heels of anger comes fear. Mr. Lowe had threatened to ruin his career if he talked—and had done so, even though he _hadn’t_ talked to anyone, in the neatest possible way, because he was still useful to the studio. What is he planning to do to Jordan and Taylor?

“Ryan?”

Ryan looks up. Sam and Andrew and Nail are all looking at him. Sam and Andrew both look deeply sorry, but Nail—Nail looks furious, and considering. He opens his mouth to say something, but just then the door to Andrew’s office bursts open and Jordan storms through.

“Andrew, what the hell,” he snarls, slapping another paper down on top of the pile on Andrew’s desk. “What happened to the plan? You can’t _do_ this to him!”

Andrew rubs his hands over his face several times and sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Jordan, can you please wait outside?” he asks. “I need to finish up with these gentlemen, first.”

“I will _not_ ,” Jordan says, heated, then seems to finally notice that Ryan’s standing there. He blinks, startled, then his face goes blank as he turns back to Andrew. “I’ll be right outside. Sam, Nail,” he nods at them and leaves, pointedly ignoring Ryan. It’s his own fault, he knows, but it still feels like getting kicked in the stomach.

Andrew lets out a frustrated breath. “This was not what I wanted, for either of you,” he says, looking from Ryan to Nail and back again. “I know it’s not what you wanted either. I’ll talk to management and see if I can get them to change their minds, but. . . “ He shrugs, helpless. “I thought they were on board, earlier. I don’t understand what happened. I’m afraid I can’t promise you anything.” He seems baffled.

“I understand,” Ryan manages to say. He feels a little like everything’s happening far away, to someone else. He knows it’s going to hurt when it finally hits, but for now he’s deep in denial. “I’ll just—let me know what they say?”

“Of course,” Andrew says, and gets up to shake his hand. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Ryan is still floating in that haze of disbelief as he comes out of Andrew’s office and sees Jordan pacing back and forth across the hallway, muttering to himself. Taylor’s there too, standing off to the side with his jaw clenched. He looks at Ryan, and then away. Jordan pauses in his pacing and turns to look at the door—at Ryan—and then turns away again. Ryan wants nothing more than to go over to them, to tell them what happened, and _why_ , to hear them get indignant on his behalf and start making plans—but he can’t. He can’t ruin their lives the way he’s ruined his own. He puts his head down and leaves as fast as he can without _actually_ running away.

He’s just out of the Monumental Pictures building and heading for the parking lot when a hand grabs his shoulder and Nail’s voice says, “ _Ryan.”_

He turns, and Nail is staring at him, looking furious and determined. “Something is wrong,” he says. “You know something—are _afraid_ of something.” He folds his arms across his chest and frowns at Ryan. “Tell me,” he demands, and Ryan breaks.

0o0o0o0o0

Taylor is pretty sure he’s going to scream, or maybe burst into tears, or maybe kill Jordan. He may even do all three, possibly at the same time. He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. It doesn’t really help, so he opens his eyes and grabs desperately for the last vanishing traces of his patience.

Jordan is currently laying on their sofa wrapped in three different blankets and buried under what looks like every pillow they have in the house. He needs to be at the Chinese Theater for the red carpet interviews before the premiere of _The Dancing Cavalier_ in a little under half an hour, and he’s refusing to move.

“Jordan, please,” Taylor says, having finally exhausted all other options. He’s tried forced cheerfulness, rational arguments, irrational arguments, and bargaining. All that’s left is pleading.

The enormous pile of pillows shifts slightly, and Jordan’s head emerges, blinking. From what Taylor can see, he’s wearing an ancient, holey sweater that dates back to their vaudeville days, and his hair is a tangled mess. His face is pale and the dark smudges under his eyes look like bruises. Taylor winces—he knew Jordan hadn’t been dealing well with Ryan breaking it off, but _he_ hasn’t been dealing well with Ryan leaving, and had retreated to his own room to lick his wounds alone. He looks Jordan over and wonders if Jordan has slept, or eaten, or moved from the sofa at all today. He can’t tell, and that’s even more frightening than the possibility that Jordan hasn’t.

“I’m not going,” Jordan says. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been crying, and stubborn, but he’s _responding_ , so Taylor has already won this battle and they both know it.

“Jordan, please. We _have_ to go. I don’t want to go, either,” Taylor rushes to say. Jordan makes a face and the pillows tremble like he’s made some sort of sudden movement. “I _really_ don’t want to go but we _have_ to.”

“No, we don’t,” Jordan argues, but his tone is a lot less definite than it was a moment ago so Taylor lets out a breath and crosses over to perch on the side of the sofa, balancing on the edge of Jordan’s pillow pile.

“We do, though,” he murmurs, and reaches out to run a hand through Jordan’s hair, trying to get it into some semblance of order. It’s no use—he’d need a comb and a tin of pomade for that—but Jordan’s eyes slip closed and some of the strain leaves his face. He still looks miserable, though. “We signed a contract.”

“ _Fuck_ the contract,” Jordan says, keeping his eyes closed. “I don’t trust those bastards as far as I can throw them—not as far as _you_ could throw them. Just look what they did—” his voice breaks and he jerks his head away from Taylor’s stroking hand, moving like he’s going to duck back under the pillows.

“Jordan, I know! I _know_ , I feel the same way—and what do you mean, not as far as _I_ could throw them?” Taylor tries for a light tone and misses by a mile. “I could definitely throw them farther than you—and I’m willing to try,” he mutters.

Jordan cracks his eyes open and looks up at him. “No, I bet I could throw them farther,” he says. “But we’re not going to find out, because I’m not leaving the house.”

Taylor closes his eyes and slumps back against Jordan, resting all his weight on him. Jordan grunts a little in surprise but takes the weight. “Please,” he says, quiet. “Please, for me?”

Jordan lets out a little wounded noise at that. “ _He’ll_ be there.”

“I know.” And Taylor does know. It had hurt—twisting the knife in a stab wound—to see Ryan outside Andrew’s office, and that was not exactly Ryan-at-his-best. Ryan at a movie premiere—it will be hard, and painful. But good for them, Taylor thinks. They are going to have to work with him—as appealing as Jordan’s not-leaving-the-house plan is, it just isn’t practical. And isn’t it rich, Taylor thinks darkly, that here _he_ is being the practical one? He doesn’t like it much, and will be happy when Ebs is better enough to take it back. “Please?”

Jordan huffs, and there is a seismic shift in the pillow pile. He emerges fully, unwraps himself from the blankets, and stretches. His stomach rumbles, then, as if it had been waiting for him to move, and Taylor thinks, _that answers_ that _question._

“Go make us some sandwiches,” he tells Jordan. “I’ll get all your stuff ready for after you’ve eaten.” He stands up, then helps Jordan to his feet and wraps him in a hug. “I’m sorry, Ebs,” he murmurs, ducking down a little so he can bury his face in Jordan’s neck.

Jordan hugs him back. It feels a little desperate, which makes Taylor feel even worse. “Don’t do that to me again, Hallsy,” he whispers. “I thought I’d lost you both.”

Taylor squeezes his eyes shut against the tears burning in them and hugs Jordan as tight as he can. “Won’t,” he says, his voice small. He lingers in the hug for a little longer, until his voice is back under his control, then straightens up and gives Jordan a wobbly grin. “When you’re done with the sandwiches, go take a shower,” he says, and his teasing tone comes out a little better this time. “You reek.”

0o0o0o0o0

Ryan wipes his clammy hands surreptitiously on his pants and then locks them together behind his back so that no one can see if they’re shaking. Looking very odd in his tux on his knees before the locked door to Mr. Lowe’s office, Nail is cursing in a mixture of Russian and English.

“I thought you said you knew how to do this,” Ryan hisses out of the corner of his mouth, glancing up and down the hall nervously and shifting so that if anyone comes around the corner he’ll be blocking Nail from their vision.

“I _do_ ,” Nail insists, fiddling with a bent pin he’d stolen from costuming on the way in.

“Well, hurry up!” Ryan feels exposed in this hallway, worried that someone will come, even though he _knows_ that no one will. Everyone from the studio is already at the Chinese Theater, getting ready for the premiere of _The Dancing Cavalier_. He and Nail had agreed that now was their best chance to find evidence against Mr. Lowe.

“Has just been a long time since I practice—aha!” There’s a faint click and this time, when Nail twists the doorknob, it moves. He gets to his feet and opens the door. “Coming?” he asks Ryan, who gives the empty hallway one last look before ducking into the office.

“What are we looking for?” he asks Nail, who’s started going through the filing cabinets lining the back wall of the office. Nail lets out an absentminded hum as he quickly rifles through the contents of one drawer before pulling out another.

“Ledger,” Nail says. He scowls at the drawer before closing it and opening a new one. “If Lowe is stealing money from studio, he has ledger somewhere to keep track. Check his desk.”

Ryan obediently crosses to Lowe’s desk and starts opening the drawers and looking through them. “How do you know? About the ledger?”

Nail glances over at him. “I am writer, yes? I research, for scripts.” He grins at Ryan’s look of surprise. “What, you think everything in movies just made up?”

Ryan makes a face. “Nothing in the Eberle and Yakupov movies seemed terribly realistic,” he points out, finishing with the first drawer and moving on to the next. Nail scoffs.

“Eberle and Yakupov movies flashy stunts and pretty men,” he says, waving a hand and moving on to the next filing cabinet. “No story.”

Ryan has to admit that he has a point. _He_ certainly wasn’t going to see them for the story—he shoves away the thought of Jordan (and Taylor) before it can distract him and reaches down to pull out the last drawer in the desk. He frowns. “Nail, this one’s locked.”

Nail comes over to inspect it while Ryan takes his place with the filing cabinets. There’s nothing particularly interesting in here: pages and pages of old scripts, mostly, and a couple of casting calls. He’s moved on to the next drawer when Nail lets out a soft sound of triumph. “Got it!”

Ryan turns to see Nail holding up two account books. He sets the down on the desk and flips them open. Ryan comes to peer over his shoulder—he’s not an accountant, but he can see the differences in some of the numbers. His heart leaps.

“Will this be enough?” he asks, anxious. Nail shrugs.

“I am not accountant,” he says, echoing Ryan’s earlier thought. “I think so, though.”

“What do we do now?” Ryan asks. Nail looks at the clock on the wall and swears under his breath.

“We have to get to the theater,” he says, shoving the books at Ryan and brushing off the knees of his tux pants. “I distract Mr. Lowe, rest of executives, press—you take these to Andrew. He will fix.”

“But—“ Ryan protests, looking down at the ledgers. Nail grabs him by the hand and drags him out of Mr. Lowe’s office. “We didn’t lock up!”

Nail gives him a withering look. “Ryan, no one care except Mr. Lowe, and he gonna be fired,” he points out. Ryan gives up and allows himself to be pulled along, trying not to think about how Jordan and Taylor are both going to be at the movie premiere. _Give the ledgers to Andrew_ , he thinks. _Focus on giving the ledgers to Andrew, then worry about them_.

0o0o0o0o0

 _The Dancing Cavalier_ is a hit. A smash hit, even—Taylor can tell from the moment that Jordan steps onto the screen as the young hoofer looking for a part in a Broadway show and the audience goes quiet. He’s sitting with Jordan and Nail, like he always does, and Jordan reaches over and grabs his hand when Nail opens his mouth onscreen and Ryan’s voice comes out. Taylor squeezes Jordan’s hand— _I’m here_ —and settles back to watch the movie.

He’d known the movie was good—this version, anyway, with Ryan’s voice and Nail’s story and Jordan’s dancing—but he hadn’t been expecting to _like_ it. It’s full of painful memories in the glimpses of Ryan onscreen in his smaller part, Ryan’s voice coming out of Nail’s mouth. But about halfway through, Jordan is fending off three French soldiers with his Broadway dance training and singing about it, and Taylor is surprised to find that he’s _enjoying_ himself. Nail’s story is fun and engrossing, and both he and Jordan are good enough actors that Taylor almost manages to forget that that’s _Ryan’s_ voice.

Jordan keeps a firm hold on Taylor’s hand for the duration of the movie, and doesn’t let go even when they have to get up to go backstage. Taylor’s pretty sure he’d drag Taylor right out on stage with him and Nail, except Sam intercepts them and sends the two of them off on their own.

“Where’s Andrew?” Taylor asks, looking around the backstage area.

“He had some things to take care of, he should be here soon,” Sam says, and Taylor frowns.

“Some things to take care of?” he repeats. “There’s something more important than the premiere of _The Dancing Cavalier?_ ”

Looking over, eyebrows raised, Sam shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

Taylor is curious. Based on the way everyone at the studio’s been acting for the last week, he’d have said that _nothing_ was more important than the premiere, not even eating or sleeping. He gives Sam his very best inquisitive stare, but Sam is ignoring him to watch as Jordan and Nail take their bows onstage.

A door slams open and both Taylor and Sam automatically turn towards it with frowns on their faces, but it’s Andrew, with Ryan in tow. A bolt of pain slams through Taylor quickly—he hadn’t seen Ryan on the red carpet, so he isn’t really prepared for the sight of Ryan in a gorgeously tailored suit, his hair swept back and away from his face in a way that somehow accentuates his cheekbones even more. Ryan meets his eyes for a moment before looking away, his expression pained, and Taylor’s mouth turns down at the corners.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Nail says to Andrew as he and Jordan come back from their bows. “Did you get it taken care of?”

“Working on it as we speak,” Andrew says, and sighs. “We’re going to have to do something dramatic, though—I want to get out in front of this thing before it blows up. Sam, how much of that crowd is reporters?”

“About half, I think—maybe a little less,” Sam reports after checking the audience, who are still on their feet, applauding madly and whistling. “Nail, Jordan, get back out there and bow some more.”

Jordan twitches, looking up from where he’s been inspecting his feet to avoid looking at either Taylor or Ryan. “What?” he asks, but Nail’s already grabbing him by the hand and dragging him back onstage. Taylor looks at Andrew.

“What?” he echoes Jordan, folding his arms. “What’s going on, Andrew?”

Andrew rubs at his eyes. “Upper management’s been embezzling from the studio,” he says, blunt. “I’d wondered—there’s been a lot of saying one thing and doing another going on there for a while—but we just found the proof, tonight.” He glances over his shoulder at Ryan, who is hovering like he wants to run out the door and away but doesn’t quite dare.

“How do you want to play it, boss?” Sam asks, one eye on the audience. Taylor is blinking in confusion, still not sure what’s going on.

“Ryan, get over here,” Andrew says, and the three of them huddle up. Nail and Jordan come back from taking their bows and Nail heads right into the huddle while Jordan comes over to Taylor.

“What’s happening?” he hisses, glancing over at the huddle, where Andrew and Sam are waving their hands emphatically while Nail nods agreement and Ryan looks like he wants to run.

“I don’t know! Apparently upper management was embezzling? And they’ve just found out?” Taylor just isn’t sure what that has to do with _The Dancing Cavalier_. Or Nail. Or Ryan, for that matter. Jordan looks equally confused.

“Okay, so. It’s good that they found out, I guess? But what’s happening _now?_ ”

Taylor just shrugs, then gasps as Nail turns and walks back out onto the stage. “What’s he doing?”

“Taylor!” Sam says, sharply, and Taylor’s focus snaps from the stage, where Nail is thanking the audience for coming in his thickest Russian accent, to Andrew, who’s making an impatient gesture at him.

“Get us a pair of mikes,” Andrew says, with the air of someone who’s repeating himself and doesn’t want to be. “ _Quick_.”

“Andrew, what the hell,” Jordan begins as Taylor races off to dig up a pair of microphones. He flags down someone who looks like they actually work for the theater, not Monumental, and is dispatched quickly with the keys to the equipment closet. When he returns with the microphones, Nail is waiting on stage, the audience is buzzing like they’re waiting for something, Ryan is nowhere in sight and Jordan’s jaw is clenched so hard that Taylor spares a moment to wonder if he’s going to break a tooth. He passes one mic off to Sam, then plugs his remaining mic into the theater’s speaker system and walks it out to Nail.

“What’s going on?” he hisses at Nail, who smiles knowingly at him.

“You’ll see,” he says in an undertone, and Taylor would really like to tackle him to the ground and sit on him until he talks (his preferred method for dealing with Nail being smug and keeping secrets), but he has to be _dignified_ in front of the audience. He does his best to communicate this with his eyes as he sets the mic up and gets back offstage.

“What’s going on?” he asks Jordan, who is glaring at the ground.

“ _Andrew_ ,” Jordan says, which is less than helpful, but just then music starts playing and Nail starts singing _Ain’t Misbehavin’_ , except that’s not his voice, that’s Ryan—

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present man who provide my voice, Ryan Nugent-Hopkins!” Nail says after a few bars of the song, and the curtains sweep open to reveal Ryan standing in front of the screen, singing _Ain’t Misbehavin’_ for all he’s worth. Taylor’s mouth drops open as Sam and Andrew come up to stand next to him and Jordan, and he finally makes the connection between Ryan’s fear of _something,_ before he disappeared on them, upper management’s embezzling funds from the studio, and Ryan’s lack of screen credit in _The Dancing Cavalier_.

“So, I missed some things,” he says, when he manages to get himself together enough to talk, and Jordan lets out a sound that might be a laugh, but might also be a sob—Taylor can’t hear very well over the sound of the swelling applause.

0o0o0o0o0

Everything since breaking in to Mr. Lowe’s office has kind of been a blur, Ryan thinks dazedly as he pastes on a smile for the next interviewer. Andrew had listened to Ryan’s babbled explanation as he’d looked over the ledgers, mouth going tight, and then made a few phone calls. Ryan doesn’t think Andrew actually got to see any of _The Dancing Cavalier,_ because he was too busy talking to the police and the higher-ups at the studio. He’d appeared at the end of the movie, grabbed Ryan, set up the reveal that Ryan had provided Nail’s voice, and then whisked him and Nail away to give interviews to what feels like every single member of the press.

He thinks this is the last one (he hopes it’s the last one, anyway, he’s so tired he can barely see straight),so he does his best to straighten up and look the reporter in the eye. She’s younger than most of the other reporters he’s talked to tonight, dressed to the nines from attending the premiere, and her blonde hair is caught up in a complicated bun at the back of her head. She holds out a hand for him to shake, businesslike.

“Christine Everhart, with Vanity Fair,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Nugent-Hopkins.” The handshake is firm and brisk, and then she flips her notebook open and pulls a pen from inside her evening bag and smiles at him. “So tell me a little about yourself,” she invites, and Ryan takes a deep breath and starts talking.

She gives him a couple of softball questions as a warm-up, about where he trained and how he got involved in movies, before asking him how he’d gotten the part of Nail’s voice in _The Dancing Cavalier_. Ryan shrugs a little, laughing.

“It wasn’t—like, there wasn’t an audition,” he explains. “I’d worked for Monumental Pictures before—I had a couple small roles, did some singing and dancing—and they liked me, I guess. So when Jord—” he cuts himself off a beat too late, and she glances up from her notebook, interest in her eyes.

“Jordan? Jordan Eberle?” she asks, and Ryan looks around for help. He’s not sure that he should be talking about this, but Sam and Andrew aren’t in the room and Nail’s busy with his own interview. Jordan’s here somewhere, too, but Ryan can’t see him either. So he sighs and nods.

“We’re—friends, I guess, it’s a long story, but—I don’t know if you know, but the first version of _The Dancing Cavalier_ didn’t really go over that well.”

“I was at that screening too,” she says, dry. “That’s an understatement. Go on.”

Ryan winces a little. “Well, there wasn’t any way that movie was going to do well, and I was talking to Jordan afterward and we were trying to come up with ways to salvage it. And he was in vaudeville, he and Hallsy—Taylor Hall,” he amends hastily. “You know.”

“Mr. Eberle tells us at every opportunity,” Christine says, and Ryan laughs.

“Yep, that’s Ebs,” he says, and his voice is maybe a little too fond, but she doesn’t comment on it. “Anyway, Hallsy and I, we were trying to cheer him up, so we said, what if it was a musical? And Jordan really liked the idea, so he took it to Andrew and Sam—Andrew Ference and Sam Gagner, the producer and the director—and they liked it, too. And like I said, they liked me—what I’d done for them, the singing and dancing—and so when they asked if I would be Nail’s voice, I said sure.”

“But why have you as Nail Yakupov’s voice? Why not as yourself?” She doesn’t look judgmental, just curious.

Ryan shrugs. “They’d already started marketing it as an Eberle and Yakupov movie, I think—people know them, like them, and Andrew said it would be easier to introduce me as Nail’s voice than do a full rework. I didn’t mind—I like Nail, he’s great.”

She nods thoughtfully, writing something in her notebook. “But you didn’t get a screen credit,” she points out. Ryan grits his teeth—none of the other reporters seemed to have noticed that. The sound of a door opening and closing behind him distracts him a little, but he doesn’t turn around to see who’s come in.

“There was a mistake, with the studio,” he says, carefully neutral. “Andrew says they’re working on adding it back in.”

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with the arrests of Mr. Kevin Lowe and Mr. Darryl Katz?” she asks, and the expression on her face is shrewd. Ryan shrugs.

“I couldn’t say,” he says, and Christine sighs, leaning back a little in her chair and recrossing her legs.

“Mr. Nugent-Hopkins, you have to admit that it’s _awfully_ coincidental, how you weren’t going to get any credit until the arrests happened,” she says, and Ryan goes stiff.

“I was _always_ going to have a screen credit,” he says, his voice carefully controlled. “You can ask Andrew—I mean, Mr. Ference. There was a mixup with the reels at the studio and it got taken off. It’s getting fixed, now.” He meets her probing stare with his very best blank expression.

“Hmm,” she says, but she drops that line of questioning and instead asks him about what he plans to do next. He gives her the same spiel he gave the rest of the reporters about hoping to work more with Monumental, and that wraps up the interview.

“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Nugent-Hopkins,” she says, standing and shaking his hand again. “I’ll be watching your career with interest.” She gives him a bright smile and walks out the door, following Nail’s interviewer, who’d finished at the same time. Ryan waits until they’re both gone and buries his head in his hands.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up at Nail, who looks as weary as he feels. “All done now,” Nail says, his voice a little scratchy from talking so much. “Go home and get rest. Andrew want us back at studio at eight tomorrow, will also need to talk to police.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Ryan says with feeling. Nail smirks at him, claps him on the shoulder again, and wanders away. Ryan stays seated a few moments more, trying to gather up the energy to move.

“So,” a voice says from behind him, and Ryan jumps clean out of his chair, knocking it sideways and landing,somewhat painfully, on his butt on the hard concrete floor. He scrambles to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his system, and sees Jordan leaning up against the wall by the door, still in his tux but with the bow tie and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

“Jesus, Jordan, you scared the life out of me,” Ryan gasps, and Jordan gives him a crooked smile.

“So,” he says again. “Lowe and Katz, huh?” and Ryan sags, scrubbing at his face.

“I—I _couldn’t_ ,” Ryan snaps his mouth shut so fast he almost bites his tongue, frustrated with himself and his inability to express himself. “Mr. Lowe, he _knew_ ,” he finally manages. “He saw me with you, and he saw me with Taylor, and he said—” Ryan swallows hard, because he’s still worried about this. “He said he’d tell everyone, that we’d never work in Hollywood again, if I told anyone what I heard.”

“So, what,” Jordan says, and he sounds _angry_. “So you decided that your career was more important to you than us?”

“No!” Ryan protests. “No, Jordan, I didn’t—he said he’d _ruin_ you, ruin you and Hallsy, and I couldn’t—“ he takes a deep breath. “I couldn’t have lived with it, if I’d ruined your life. Either of you.” He looks down at the floor. “I didn’t want you to hate me,” he says, quiet, and Jordan lets out a sound like he’s been punched.

“Ryan, no—we would never—“ he stops, grimacing. “I wish you’d told us,” he says, quiet. “I wish we’d _known—_ Ryan, we could have helped! You weren’t alone.” His tone has softened. “You could have told us.”

“I was scared,” Ryan admits, holding himself by the elbows. “I didn’t have any proof—who would have believed me? I was a nobody.”

Jordan makes a wordless noise of outrage. “You were not a _nobody_ ,” he snarls. “I would have believed you. Hallsy would. Nail—obviously Nail believed you.” He sounds a little bitter. “And we would have backed you up to Sam and Andrew.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, softly. He’d hoped—he’d thought maybe—but he hadn’t wanted to risk it. He looks up at Jordan, who looks exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Jordan makes an aborted gesture with his hands. “Is that it?” he asks, and his voice is raw. Ryan takes two stumbling steps towards him and stops.

“No, no—Jordan, I’m so sorry I left, I’m _so fucking sorry_ ,” he says, and Jordan lets out a wounded noise and closes the distance between them and grabs him, burying his face in Ryan’s neck. Ryan just holds him tight as he lets out several heaving breaths, swallowing and blinking as his eyes burn with tears. The sound of the door opening startles Ryan, but Jordan just tightens his grip.

“We’re both still really mad at you,” Jordan says, words muffled by Ryan’s jacket, and Taylor nods from where he’s standing in the doorway. “But you should come home with us.” Ryan looks over at Taylor for corroboration, unsure, and Taylor reaches out and takes him by the hand, pulling him out to the parking lot.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Taylor says when Ryan starts to speak. “After we’ve all had some sleep.”

0o0o0o0o0

Taylor wakes up early the morning after the premiere and can’t get back to sleep. He stays in bed with his eyes closed for a few minutes, reveling in Jordan’s slight snores and Ryan’s little whistling sounds as he breathes, before climbing carefully out of bed and heading down to the kitchen.

He’s quiet as he starts making breakfast—no matter how much he jokes about his cocoa being his one skill in the kitchen, he _can_ scramble eggs—but when he comes back in from fetching the paper, Ryan is sleepily hunched over the counter, looking hungrily at the pile of scrambled eggs steaming gently on the stove. Taylor puts the paper down on the kitchen table and ambles over to the coffeemaker, getting down a pair of coffee cups. He slides a cup across the counter to Ryan when it’s full, and Ryan, even half asleep, manages to catch it.

“Eggs?” Taylor asks, keeping his voice low as he finishes topping up his cup. Ryan makes an affirmative noise as he blows on his coffee. Taylor dishes up two plates of eggs and leads Ryan over to the table, pausing only to jerk his head at the silverware drawer. Ryan grabs a pair of forks, and they sit down next to each other at the table. Taylor keeps his eyes on his plate as he eats, still not totally sure how he feels about all of the revelations of the past day. He’s glad that Ryan is back, and that he’s okay,but he’s still hurt, because Ryan left, and because Ryan didn’t trust them enough to let them help.

He finishes his eggs and leans back in his chair, picking up his coffee and sipping at it as he gets his first really good look at Ryan since he’d left them standing in the recording studio.

Ryan’s lost some weight, is the first thing that Taylor notices. His cheekbones, already impressive, now stand out enough to make him look fey, although the effect is offset slightly by the deep shadows under his eyes. His shirt also doesn’t fit right—although Taylor thinks that might be because it’s not his shirt. He’s pretty sure he’s seen Ebs wearing that one. Ryan has perked up significantly now that he’s eaten breakfast and drunk most of a cup of coffee, but he looks brittle around the edges, like if you touch him wrong he’ll break. He’s also avoiding meeting Taylor’s eyes.

“I don’t bite,” Taylor says, with maybe a touch too much heat in his voice, because Ryan flinches slightly before glancing over at him. His jumpiness irritates Taylor— _he_ didn’t leave and break Ryan’s heart—but he tries to stuff it down as Ryan gives him a tentative smile.

“Sorry,” Ryan says, and his voice is first-thing-in-the-morning husky. “It’s just a little weird—I didn’t think I’d ever get to—“ he cuts himself off and sips at his coffee. “I’m sorry,” he says again after a moment. “I apologized to Jordan last night, but I didn’t get the chance to talk to you before we all fell asleep.”

“It’s fine,” Taylor starts to say, but Ryan interrupts him, a fierce expression on his face.

“No, it’s not—Taylor, I’m _so_ fucking sorry I didn’t tell you—both of you.” He looks down at his hands, twisting them back and forth around his coffee cup. “I was so scared, I just couldn’t think straight.”

Taylor finishes his coffee for something to do with his hands, watching Ryan play with his cup. When he puts the cup on the table Taylor leans over and puts a hand on Ryan’s, making him look up.

“Look, I get why you were scared,” Taylor says, feeling his mouth twist down at the corners. “I haven’t read that yet,” he jerks his head at the newspaper sitting across from them, its headline screaming _STUDIO EXECUTIVES ARRESTED FOR GAMBLING AND EMBEZZLEMENT, “_ but I got most of the story from Andrew last night. I know he threatened to expose the three of us, but—Ryan, you could have trusted us.” He swallows, his chest feeling tight. “It hurts, that you didn’t think you could,” he admits.

“No, Taylor,” Ryan sounds distressed. He pushes back from his chair and comes over to sit astride Taylor’s thighs, his hands on Taylor’s shoulders. “I should have trusted you,” he says, looking intently into Taylor’s eyes. “I should have trusted both of you. I know that—hell, I knew it then, but I’d gotten myself so worked up, panicking about what he was going to do to you.He’d already destroyed my career, I thought. What would he do to you? Or Jordan? I couldn’t stand it, thinking that he’d hurt you because of me.” His voice cracks a little, and he looks away. “I thought, at least you two could be happy.”

“Not without you,” Taylor says, and Ryan looks up, hopeful. “We weren’t—Ryan, we were the two most miserable bastards in the entire world,” he says, and hopes Ryan can tell just how sincere he’s being. “I think Jordan lived on the couch the whole time you were gone, moping, but I can’t really tell you because I spent the whole time in my room, moping.” He reaches up and puts his hands over Ryan’s. “We don’t work right without you,” he says, and means it.

Ryan lets out a shuddering breath and ducks down to hide his face in Taylor’s shoulder. Taylor lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Ryan’s back, breathing him in. _He’s back_ , Taylor thinks, doing his best to convince himself. _He’s back and he’s_ staying _back, he’s not leaving_.

“You can’t ever leave again,” Taylor says, his voice dangerously wobbly. Ryan nods his agreement into Taylor’s shoulder. “I mean it, Ryan, we’re a mess without you.”

“You’ll have to make it up to us,” Jordan says from the doorway where he’s leaning against the wall, watching them. Ryan’s head jerks up and he almost bangs it against Taylor’s forehead as they turn to face Jordan. “I have some ideas on that front.” His grin is wicked, but his eyes are serious as he adds, “It might take you a while.”

Ryan’s smile is tremulous but real as he looks from one of them to another. “That sounds good to me,” he says.

“Good,” Jordan says, pushing off the wall and coming over to join them at the table. “Hallsy, did you make enough eggs for me too? Stop hogging Ryan and make me some eggs, he’s got to go get dressed—he’s supposed to be at the police station in half an hour.”

“So this is how it’s going to be,” Taylor laments, letting Ryan climb off of him with great reluctance. “Work, work, work, and never a ‘please,’ or a ‘thank you’—“

“Thank you,” Ryan interrupts him, leaning down to give him a brief kiss. He kisses Jordan, too, then leaves, probably to go get dressed. Taylor watches him go with a silly smile on his face. He doesn’t feel too bad, because Jordan’s wearing a matching one.

“I like him,” he announces, getting up from the table.

“So do I,” Jordan says, unfolding the paper and looking at the front page with interest. “Let’s keep him, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Taylor agrees, and bends down to kiss Jordan good morning before wandering over to make him some eggs.

**Author's Note:**

> It really does take a village - this fic has been in the works since. . . (checks drafts folder). . . 2013, in one form or another. Massive, MASSIVE thanks to [toomanyhometowns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns), for being the person who inspired this fic, and for letting me yell at her about it on tumblr and via email. Thank you also to [Jenny](http://thistidalwave.tumblr.com/), who was an utterly fabulous cheerleader - I couldn't have finished it without you! And of course, thanks to Kris and Helen, who have been listening to me whine about this fic for two years and haven't murdered me yet. You guys are the best <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [accidentallymelted](http://accidentallymelted.tumblr.com), I reblog a lot of things from various fandoms and am always willing to yell about hockey or musicals or some combination of the two. Come say hi!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for The Sun's In My Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5026297) by [asmallbluedot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmallbluedot/pseuds/asmallbluedot)




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